“Actually, it is. But more than that, it’s a chance for a fresh start.”
Serena froze, a French fry inches from her mouth. Her gaze slanted to Luther. “Is he for real?”
“As real as it gets.” Luther shifted in his seat, his shaved bald head glinting under the fluorescent lights. “He gave me a chance last year when I was living out by the underpass.”
The endorsement didn’t seem to impress her. Living on the streets also did that to a person. Chewing on the fry, she leaned back and crossed her arms. “What kind of job is it?”
“Nothing glamorous, but it’s legal. You’d be working at a bar in south Florida. Minimum wage plus tips. Plus, there’s a small cabin behind the bar where you can bunk with one of the other waitresses, free of charge.” Nate considered mentioning the cabin was air conditioned, but held it back for fear of overselling.
Suspicion narrowed Serena’s eyes. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch. This is a one-time offer for you to start your life over. Nobody there will know who you are or what you’ve done to survive. In exchange, you have to work your ass off. And keep your nose clean. No drugs—”
“I don’t do drugs.”
“And no turning tricks. One slip and you’re out on your ass.”
“It’s how I got off the street,” Luther added.
She shot him a look. “If it’s so great, why ain’t you still there?”
“Small town’s not my thing. Don’t get me wrong; it was a good opportunity. Lola—she’s the one who owns the bar—she’s tough, but she’s nice. She gave me a break when no one else would, and for that I’ll always be grateful.”
Luther had worked at the Swamp for six months before returning to Orlando. He’d been smart about it, saving his money and biding his time until he had enough resources to make a fresh start. And because he’d displayed such a strong work ethic—and he’d had the courtesy to give Lola plenty of notice—Nate had offered him a job at Six Points. He was still in the training phase but learning fast, and it wouldn’t be long before he was ready to work on a personal protection detail.
Indecision crossed Serena’s face as she picked at her ragged nails. “Do I have to answer right now?”
Nate shook his head. In truth, he wanted to nudge her in the right direction but understood she needed to reach that conclusion on her own. “I’ll give you three days to think it over. Call me when you’ve made up your mind.”
“What if I say no?”
“It’s cool. No hard feelings.” But he’d be disappointed. She was a good kid in a shitty situation, and he really hoped she’d seize the opportunity to get the hell off the streets before the hole she was in got too deep for her to dig out. “If you don’t want the job, we’ll continue our current arrangement. But think about whether you want to be doing what you’re doing in another year. Or ten. This is a chance for a brand-new life.”
Serena nodded. “I’ll let you know when I make up my mind.”
She stood, picked up the backpack closer to Nate, and left the diner.
“Think she’ll bite?” Luther asked once the door closed behind her.
Nate idly scratched his denim-covered leg. “I put the odds at eighty percent.”
“Why not higher?”
“She’s scared, and the fear of the unknown has a way of clouding people’s judgment. A lot of folks choose to stay in a bad situation because the devil they know is less frightening than the devil they don’t.”
Luther nodded in agreement, though he didn’t seem happy about it. “We seeing anybody else today?”
“No, Serena was the last on my list.”
As Nate signaled the waitress for the check, he heard the chime that signaled the front door opening.
Luther tilted his head toward him. “Hot momma at two o’clock.”
Curious, Nate looked to his right and was surprised to see a familiar face staring back at him. And like every other time he came into contact with Dorcas Otero, his heart kicked like a mule.
She was the best friend and former roommate of his sister-in-law, Nina. Average height, she was slender yet curvy, with an ass that would put JLo to shame. Her wavy hair was jet-black, her smooth skin a rich olive tone, both courtesy of her Hispanic heritage. She had sharp brown eyes, and an even sharper tongue. On more than one occasion, he’d been on the receiving end of that sharp tongue, and, sick bastard that he was, it never failed to give him a rise.
He’d asked her out awhile back, but she’d turned him down cold. Some bullshit about him not being her type, though he’d seen the interest in her eyes. But there was also wariness. A hint of fear. As if she didn’t want to be—or perhaps she was afraid of being—attracted to him. So he’d let the matter drop, at least until he could figure out what the problem was.
